Unfinished Business
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: Kid promised Jake Carlson that he would come back and testify that Harvey Bishop tried to kill him. And Kid keeps his promises. Follow up to the Fifth Victim. Trying for amnesty days, c May 1881
1. A Pretty Little Town?

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Unfinished Business Trying for Amnesty Days c May 1881

Chapter 1: A Pretty Little Town?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"You sure he ain't drunk?" asked the hotel desk clerk.

Kid Curry stopped writing. Guileless blue eyes looked up from the registry book, the elegant script of his alias only half finished. _Thaddeus._ A tightlipped smile spread across Kid's face. Heyes slumped beside him, both forearms upon the reception counter. The gray sleeves of Heyes' jacket stood out in sharp contrast to the white cuffs of his shirt and his pale hands. The older Kansan's dark haired head remained bowed, black pointed hat pulled low, sunken eyes closed against the oil lamp's bright light.

"I'm sure," replied Kid in a quiet tone. "We've been travelling all day. My partner just needs to rest."

Kid's back stiffened at the clerk's audible sniff, but the disagreeable man didn't notice as he turned away and reached for a room key. The clerk muttered something that sounded like _"sleep it off more likely."_ Heyes had been quiet ever since they got on the first stage earlier that morning. The fact that Heyes didn't rouse at the clerk's disparaging comment was more worrisome than Kid wanted to admit. The clerk turned back to face them and thumped the room key down on the counter beside the ledger.

"I don't appreciate your talking about my partner like that," warned the lean muscled young man.

"We don't want no trouble here," declared the unpleasant clerk. "This is a respectable hotel."

Kid's level gaze met the desk clerk's squinted eyes. The man backed up a step. Heyes' head raised. The shadowed circles beneath his brown eyes made the slender man's eyes look even darker than usual. The gaze he shot towards Kid told him in no uncertain terms the clerk's opinion of them wasn't worth bothering about. Kid sucked in a deep breath, but agreed. He needed to worry more about his ill partner than a rude clerk.

"Good. We don't want trouble either," nodded the curly blond head.

The clerk started to breathe again. The irritating man stepped forward and pushed the key towards Kid.

"That will be two dollars," declared the clerk.

"That's highway robbery," objected Heyes.

Kid swallowed a smirk at the clerk's affronted squawk. The muscular blond felt a sense of relief that his frugal cousin at least argued the high fee. The doctor had deemed Heyes well enough for stage travel this morning, but a day of jolting over the countryside had his partner looking done in.

"Best room in the house," huffed the clerk. "With two beds overlooking our beautiful…"

"Are the sheets clean?" interrupted Heyes. "We're not paying for bedbugs."

As the clerk launched into a recital of the attributes of the hotel, Kid reached inside his brown leather jacket to the pocket that contained his wallet. For once, it was well filled. The money from the sale of their horses and tack this morning had paid for Smith and Jones to get two tickets on the stage west to Gumption Gully. The partner's disembarked at the first stop in Wilton's Bend. While the westbound stage continued onward, Kid purchased two tickets on the southbound stage to Newton Falls using their old aliases, Rembacker and Owens. The diversionary tactics continued as the partners switched stages and aliases once more at the way stop in Red Bank, finally arriving in Union Flats at dusk. Kid didn't think Rachel Carlson would go back on her word, but he figured it would be safer if Smith and Jones weren't too easy to track.

"And we'll need hot water for a bath," interrupted Kid.

"That's extra," insisted the clerk. "Another four bits."

Kid heard the sharp inhalation that indicated his partner was gearing up for a verbal sparring match.

"Shouldn't a bath be included in the price of the best room in the house?" interceded Kid in a mild tone.

The desk clerk's chin jutted out. The man's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he nodded once.

"Alright," the man grated out. "One bath on the house."

Kid counted out the necessary money and then finished signing in. The shootist hoped they wouldn't have to touch the wages Jake Carlson had paid them for killing cougars. They would need to get horses and gear again when Heyes was well enough to ride. The younger Kansan picked up the room key and his gloves from the counter, tipped his brown hat at the clerk, then adjusted the heavily laden saddle bags draped over his left shoulder before he reached for their bedrolls. Kid grasped his partner's elbow and turned Heyes to face the stairs.

"Let's get you upstairs Joshua," urged Kid.

"I can't believe he's charging four bits for hot water," grumbled Heyes in a low murmur as they moved away from the registry counter. "Why do you want a bath? You don't need one."

"No," nodded Kid in agreement. "You do. A hot soak will make you feel better."

Heyes' snort indicated his objection, but any argument was forestalled as they reached the staircase. Kid didn't comment on his wobbly partner's white knuckled grip on the banister, and he stayed right behind Heyes every step of the climb. Finally they reached the front bedroom. Heyes leaned against the wall as Kid inserted the key in the lock. The door swung open. Kid surveyed the large room. To his left, a night stand with a single drawer stood sentry beside the closest bed. The shiny brass arch of the headboard was camouflaged behind a mound of fluffy pillows. A high backed upholstered chair guarded the other side of the bed. The front was exposed. Heavy floral drapes hung to either side of the tall, narrow windows. A dry sink topped with a large wash bowl and a pitcher adorned with pink roses flanked the right wall. The Spartan second bed had two thin pillows. A tall bureau with an oil lamp setting on a lace doily stood watch between the bed and the open door.

"After you," gestured Kid.

Heyes pushed off the wall. Panting with exertion, the former outlaw staggered inside the room. The fast draw followed. Kid dropped the saddlebags and bedrolls just inside the entrance. He pushed the door shut behind them as Heyes' knees started to buckle. Kid caught his weary partner around the waist before Heyes hit the floor. He shepherded his cousin to sit on the side of the nearest bed.

"I knew it was too soon for you to be travelling," groused Kid.

"Doc said I could! I'm fine," insisted Heyes.

Kid released his grip on his partner. He moved towards the other bed and tossed his hat and gloves on the piecework quilt. Heyes placed his hands on either side of his hips to steady himself.

"Why are you so worried about me?" sighed Heyes.

"You ain't fine," answered Kid. "You've been shot."

Blue eyes met brown in a wordless exchange. Heyes' lips crinkled up in a small rueful smile, he shrugged.

"It isn't easy is it?" asked Heyes.

"What?"

"Being the one that's not hurt," replied Heyes. His dark eyes softened. Using almost the same words Kid had used when they were leaving the Carlson's ranch this morning, Heyes continued, "Getting shot at doesn't agree with me either. When you're injured, I feel..."

"You ain't never been shot before."

Kid was surprised at how bleak his voice sounded. He turned away from his partner's gaze and swallowed the lump in his throat as he strode quickly past the second bed to the front window.

"It wasn't your fault," assured Heyes' soft voice.

"I know," answered Kid.

He didn't tell his partner the truth of that statement didn't make it set any better. Heyes knew that just as well as he did. Standing to one side of the glass, Kid pretended to check out the darkening street below. The setting sun pierced the window panes with orange slivers of light. The watchful man carefully kept his body away from the view of anyone that might be peering at the hotel.

"You're gonna have to tell me the rest of what happened at the Carlson's," continued Heyes.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

The simple one word answer brought a smile to Kid's lips. Kid tilted his head to one side and assessed his partner carefully. His partner's dark eyes were clear and Heyes was speaking with full sentences, not the worrisome disjointed mumbles of the first few days after the shooting. Heyes might not be feeling his best, but his partner was definitely on the mend. For the first time since his partner had been shot, Kid started to relax.

"Figures, you always want to know everything."

Heyes smirked. He pulled the black hat off his head and dangled it from his bedpost before bringing his legs up onto the bed revealing the worn soles of his boots. The strategist leaned back against the pillows.

"Can't make a plan without information," nodded Heyes. "It's important that I know what I told Mrs. Carson, and a few other things, like who shot me and why."

"We'll talk after supper," agreed Kid.

"Kid, I've waited all day," countered Heyes. "Besides, I'm not hungry."

"You still need to eat," declared Kid.

"You mean you're hungry!"

Kid pulled the heavy rose patterned drapes across the window. His long legs carried him swiftly back to the bureau. Kid struck a match and lit the oil lamp, spilling golden light across the oval braided rug lying between the beds. Now was probably as good a time to explain his plan to Heyes as any.

"Union Flats is a pretty little town," started Kid. "The diner..."

"Pretty?" mocked Heyes. A tired chuckle escaped from his mouth before his voice ratcheted upwards in a tone of incredulity. "The desk clerk called the town beautiful and now you say pretty?"

Kid leaned back against the wall. The cartridges in his gun belt pressed uncomfortably against his backside.

"Yeah, pretty," retorted Kid.

"This dry and dusty little town is just like all the other dry and dusty towns we've been chased out of this past year!" insisted the more loquacious partner. "There ain't nothin' pretty about it."

The corners of Kid's lips twitched upwards. The sinewy man shifted his stance slightly trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Nobody's chasing us," soothed Kid.

If anything, Kid's calm words riled Heyes more. The mastermind sat up from the pillows, raised both hands and started ticking off various businesses on his long slender fingers.

"Union Flats is just like every other town! Since we left the stage depot, we walked past a livery, a smithy, a mercantile, an assay office, a saloon..."

"Two saloons," corrected Kid. "One on each side of the street."

His partner shot a dark eyed glare at Kid before he resumed his litany. Kid decided not to mention the third saloon past the hotel. They hadn't actually walked by it after all.

"A vacant storefront, a diner, and now we're in the hotel," concluded Heyes. "What's different about this town? What makes you think Union Flats is so pretty?"

Blue eyes twinkled. A gleaming smile spread across Kid's face. His partner hadn't mentioned any of the buildings further up the street, signs that Union Flats was growing with nearly all the essentials to ensure a safe and prosperous community. In addition to the third saloon, Union Flats boasted a post office accompanied by a telegraph station, a school, a cobbler, an attorney's office, several neatly kept homes behind the mercantile, and a church at the end of the street. Even more attractive to Kid, there was one thing that he hadn't seen in Union Flats.

"Come on," prodded Heyes, "tell me what's so pretty about Union Flats?"

"No Sheriff's office."

For a brief moment silence filled the hotel room. A spark of amusement lit up Heyes' dark eyes, followed by an infectious chuckle. Kid's smile widened into a full out grin, and then he found himself laughing out loud. It felt good to laugh again after the long worrisome weeks of cougars and killers and Carlsons. Heyes settled back again, deeper into the pillows, wriggling his legs as he stretched out on the soft bed. He crossed one slim leg over the other. A mischievous smile dimpled Heyes' cheeks.

"Kid," agreed Heyes as he crossed his hands behind his head, "I do believe you're right. Union Flats is the prettiest little town we've seen in a long while."

Kid sauntered over to the door. He picked up the abandoned saddlebags and brought them to his bed. The careful man bent over, opened the clasp on one side and started rummaging through the pouch. He pulled out socks, a crumpled white shirt, a wide toothed comb, a container of boot polish, red longjohns, and a bar of yellow soap.

"Catch," called Kid.

Kid tossed the soap towards his cousin. Heyes' nimble fingers snatched the soap in midair.

"Tomorrow morning I'll telegraph Lom," smiled Kid.

"Why so soon?" asked Heyes. "We don't have to contact him until the end of the month."

"I told Mrs. Carlson to contact Lom when she needs to reach us," answered Kid as he resumed unpacking the saddlebags.

"When Mrs. Carlson needs to reach us? What do you mean? Why?" questioned Heyes in a puzzled tone. "Why would she need to reach us?"

Kid's hands paused. He looked over his shoulder. Heyes sniffed the soap, his nose crinkled up at the odor of the yellow bar.

"I promised I'd be back to testify for Jake," answered Kid.

The soap dropped from Heyes' hands as his jaw dropped open. Speechless for a moment, Heyes ran his fingers through his dark hair. He closed his mouth and swallowed before a torrent of words poured out of his mouth.

"Are you out of your mind?" protested Heyes. "You can't go back there! Mrs. Carlson knows who we are! Why would you need to testify for Jake..."

Kid straightened up. Heyes continued his remonstrations, his querulous voice rising with every word. A knock on the door interrupted the flood of objections. Kid and Heyes exchanged a glance.

"That will be your bath water," asserted Kid in a quiet voice.

"Kid,"A low hiss of frustration erupted from Heyes.

"I'm gonna fetch us some supper while you take your bath."

"Why do you think you have to testify for Jake?" objected Heyes.

The knock sounded again, followed by a youthful voice calling, "Señor, su baño."

"The last thing we need is for you to go back to the Carlson's ranch!"

"I ain't arguing with you Heyes," replied Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	2. Digging in Deeper

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 2: Digging in Deeper

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"You don't want a table?" asked the young waitress with a disappointed pout. She waved at the nearly empty diner. "There's plenty of room."

This late in the day, there was only one table occupied. Through the doorway to the kitchen, Kid could see a sturdy woman chopping vegetables. On the stovetop, a large kettle simmered. The aroma of fresh baked bread, cinnamon, and something sweet that smelled like home and made Kid's mouth water, wafted through the restaurant.

"My partner isn't feeling up to coming out tonight," explained Kid. "I just want something I can take back to the room to feed him. Maybe some soup?"

"Mrs. O'Rourke won't allow dishes to be taken out of the diner," replied the waitress with a shake of her head. "I can wrap up some sliced ham and bread in paper, if you want."

Kid leaned forward, resting his hand against the edge of the counter. The cuff of his blue button down shirt peeked out past the sleeve of his lightweight jacket. He smiled warmly.

"I'd like that just fine," agreed Kid. "But I don't think that's the best thing for my partner. Maybe Mrs. O'Rourke would agree to let a soup bowl and spoon go over to the hotel, just this once, due to the extenuating circumstances."

"Due to the ex… what?" The waitress looked confused. She glanced back at the woman in the kitchen fearfully. "Mrs. O'Rourke don't let nobody take her dishes."

"Why don't you let me speak to Mrs. O'Rourke?" coaxed Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Joshua," called Kid from the corridor, "it's me."

The hinges on the door to the room squeaked as Kid pushed it open. In front of the night stand, Heyes sat in a copper bath, water clouded with soap up to his chest. His head rested against the back of the tub and tendrils of damp wet hair clung to his neck. Brown eyes blinked open as Kid stepped inside.

"Whatcha got there?" asked Heyes.

Kid strode past the beds. He settled the tray Mrs. O'Rourke had generously filled on the bureau next to the oil lamp before he turned to face his partner.

"Supper," answered Kid.

"Supper I know, but what kinda supper?"

"Thought you weren't hungry," smirked Kid.

"I wasn't, all that bouncing from stage to stage unsettled my stomach some," admitted Heyes. "But now that I've had a chance to rest, I'm beginning to think supper sounds like a good idea."

Kid stepped forward and reached for the thick towel on his bed. He shook it out before holding it up in front of his partner.

"Can you get outta the bath by yourself?" asked Kid. "Or do you need my help?"

"Of course I can get out by myself," spluttered Heyes indignantly. "I told you I was fine."

"I heard you."

Kid tossed the towel on the nearby bed. The younger Kansan turned back to his own bed, opened the clasp on Heyes' saddle bags and began searching through them. Behind him, he heard water slosh and floorboards squeak as the slender man struggled up and out of the bath. The bed frame creaked. Kid tossed his partner's longjohns over his shoulder. A muffled squawk of protest sounded.

"You missed!" protested Heyes. "My clothes landed on my head, not the bed!"

Kid smirked, but didn't correct his partner. He moved to the bureau and began removing lids from soup bowls.

"Do you want some vegetable soup?"

"Yeah," agreed Heyes. "And what's that wrapped up in paper?"

"Sliced ham and cheese on bread," answered Kid.

"And in the covered dish?"

"Dessert," smiled Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Did you want some pie too?" asked Kid.

The sturdy man took his partner's empty soup bowl and set it back on the tray. The wrappers from the ham and cheese sandwiches were already in the waste bin. Kid gestured towards the apple pie. Heyes nodded as he leaned back against the pillowed headboard with a contented sigh. Kid scooped one slice of pie onto a saucer and handed it to his partner along with a fork. He settled into the chair beside Heyes' bed with his own dish. It wasn't until after Kid swallowed his first bite of pie that Heyes returned to the subject of the Carlsons.

"Kid," began Heyes, "don't you think it's time to tell me what I've missed since being shot?"

"What do you want to know first?" nodded Kid as he forked another bite of pie.

"For starters, what day is it?" asked Heyes.

"Monday."

"Monday?" repeated Heyes. "It was Monday night when we went riding! Do you mean I was shot a week ago?"

"Yeah."

"Who shot me?" asked Heyes.

"Harvey Bishop."

"What? Harvey?" asked Heyes. "You told me he and Sam got killed after me!"

"They did."

Kid took a third bite of pie. Heyes' nostrils flared. His partner scooped up a bite of pie as well, shoved it in his mouth and chewed vigorously before he swallowed and spoke again.

"Do you think you could provide just a little more detail?" prodded Heyes.

Kid sighed and looked at his half eaten piece of pie. He stood up and strode across the room. Kid placed the pie on the serving tray and then turned back to face his partner.

"Talking about murder ain't exactly good supper conversation," answered Kid.

"Tell me, step by step," demanded Heyes, "what happened since I got shot?"

"You fell off your horse."

"Kid," growled Heyes.

Kid's blue eyes flashed a mild reproof at his partner. Heyes cut into his pie with his fork, breaking off another bite, but he didn't eat it, he merely pushed it across the plate.

"Now do you want me to tell this? Or not?" asked Kid. "Cause if you're gonna keep interrupting I'm not ever gonna finish."

"Go on," urged Heyes, "but maybe only the important parts."

Kid swallowed and closed his tired eyes. The image of his partner falling, rolling down the embankment, lying so still, appeared as if it were happening all over again. The blue eyes opened to see his partner sitting safely across the room. He could tell Heyes was getting a little antsy waiting for his response.

"You've been favoring your left leg all day," started Kid. "That's because you landed hard, on your left side. That's why you've got those big bruises on your shoulder and hip."

The sturdy blond unbuckled his gun belt and draped it over the nearest bedpost of his big brass bed. Kid marched back to the entryway. The bedrolls still leaned against the wall where he had left them earlier. He picked his up and returned to his bed.

"Good horse, that bay you were riding," Kid murmured. "Shame we had to sell Blaze. He didn't spook much, stayed right there. I had a time getting you back up. I mighta caused a couple of those other bumps and bruises you got."

Kid unrolled his bedroll and removed the bulky sheepskin jacket folded inside. He shook it out and draped it over the footboard before beginning to remove the leather jacket he'd worn all day.

"Finally got you back to the Carlson's," explained Kid. "Mrs. Carlson insisted you be put in the front bedroom. Jake helped me get you inside before he went for the doctor. They didn't get back to the ranch until after sunrise."

The leather jacket was folded neatly and placed back on his blanket atop his other pair of pants. Kid rolled up his bedroll again. He leaned the bedroll against the bureau and placed his saddlebags on the floor beside it. He placed his gloves on the nearby bureau before he tossed his floppy brown hat across the bed. It caught on the far bedpost, spun until it hit the wall and then settled to rest.

"You hadn't said a word, hadn't opened your eyes since you were shot." Kid swallowed again. "Doc did what he could. Said you ought to wake up in a day or so, but he wasn't promising anything."

Kid picked up his partner's saddlebags and placed them in the chair beside Heyes' bed before he returned to his own bed and began to pull off his boots.

"Mrs. Carlson said she would tend to you, so I rode back out…"

"You did what?" snapped Heyes. "You went chasing after a murderer?"

Kid looked up at his partner. Heyes' brown eyes were fixed upon him, the uneaten pie still upon the plate in his hands. Kid dropped his right boot on the floor.

"Doc said you shouldn't be moved. And I ain't good at waiting around Heyes," reminded the man of action.

The left boot joined the first. Kid began to unbutton the cuffs of his blue shirt.

"Wednesday morning Doc came back to check on you again," continued Kid. "That's when we heard about Sam. That afternoon at Sam's funeral, Sheriff said…"

"You left me again?" blurted out Heyes.

Kid looked up.

"I didn't have a choice. Sheriff said he wanted to speak to Jake, Harvey and me," answered Kid. "Mrs. Carlson insisted on coming too, so that fella Homer from the next ranch over sent his cook to watch over you for the afternoon."

"Oh great!" exclaimed Heyes. "Now I have to wonder what I told this other woman too…"

"Señora Mendoza don't speak English," soothed Kid as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. "And don't worry, I shaved your face so you would be presentable."

"You shaved me?"

"I shaved your face every morning until you could do it yourself," shrugged Kid. He decided not to tell his partner how worried he'd been at Heyes' vacant stare those first days. Kid peeled the blue garment off his body and shook the shirt out. "Mrs. Carlson didn't feel comfortable handling a straight razor and I couldn't let Jake tend to you. The way he shaves, you mighta had a handlebar moustache by now."

Heyes chuckled. The older Kansan ran a hand across his chin. His own shaky attempts at shaving the past few mornings had left him with a few small nicks. Kid draped his shirt beside his sheepskin coat.

"That night I saw something that made me start wondering…" Kid's voice trailed off.

"What?" prompted Heyes.

Kid shook his head dismissively.

"I went out again the next morning," murmured Kid. He slipped off his trousers. Standing there in his worn longjohns, he shook the trousers out and added them to the collection of clothing airing out on the footboard. "A shot came from the ridge along the top of the waterfall."

Heyes blanched.

"The first shot missed and I dove into the river," continued Kid. "The next shots missed too. I made it to the bank and hid in the rocks. The shooter came down, looking for me. He never saw me, but I got a real good look at Harvey Bishop and that rifle of his."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" hissed Heyes in annoyance.

"At the time, I was a little busy trying not to get shot, and you were still outta your head. By the time you came around, Harvey was dead," reminded Kid.

"What happened?"

"I told you, he missed."

"Kid!" exclaimed Heyes in exasperation.

"When Harvey gave up trying to find me I fished my Colt out of the river and tracked down that fool horse of mine," continued Kid. "Unlike your bay gelding the black I rode was skittish. It took a while. By the time I got back to town it was dark. The sheriff was gone. Deputy said he'd be back in a couple of hours, so I waited."

"You sat in the sheriff's office for a couple of hours?" spluttered Heyes.

Kid smiled gently. He padded barefoot back to stand beside the bureau.

"Now Heyes, you know me better than that," chided Kid. "I went over to the saloon to talk with a woman named Helen."

"Oh, talk," Heyes rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Is that what you call it now?"

Kid shook his curly blond head. He'd gone upstairs at Helen's suggestion. The gentle warmth in her eyes enticed even more than the chance for a private conversation. It had been one of those times he needed someone to hold and someone to hold him, just needed to feel alive.

"Talk, at first," replied Kid. "Helen told me something about Harvey, it sort of explained why he was killin' folks."

"Harvey wasn't a good poker player," began Heyes, "but I didn't think he lost enough to want to kill…"

"The murders didn't have anything to do with the poker game," interrupted Kid. "Harvey wanted to kill Jake. He thought he could get Rachel Carson that way. Killing everyone else was just to confuse folks."

Heyes started to shake his head, then winced and stopped the motion.

"That's crazy," declared Heyes.

"Yeah," agreed Kid. He gestured towards Heyes. "Now are you gonna eat that or not?"

"Huh?"

Heyes looked down in surprise at the pie plate still in his hand. He set the dish on the night stand beside his bed.

"No, I'm not all that hungry after all," answered Heyes. "Did you tell the sheriff?"

"When the sheriff got back, I told him about Harvey trying to kill me," continued Kid, "but by then Harvey was dead and he didn't believe me."

"That's why the sheriff wanted to know where you were when I got shot," realized Heyes.

"Yeah."

"We shoulda left then," groused Heyes.

Kid shook his head remembering how frail Heyes had looked, his pale face nearly as white as the sheets. He wouldn't risk moving his partner then. The shootist turned his face away and spoke towards the unfeeling drapes.

"No. Doc hadn't seen you yet," reminded Kid. "Next morning, he said you were well enough for a stage..."

"I take it Doc hasn't been on a stage lately," interrupted Heyes with a sour grimace.

"While you were sleeping, I went for a ride..."

"There you go! Leaving me again!" interrupted Heyes with a pretend frown. "After all the times I've watched you sleeping and listened to your every snore."

Kid abruptly turned to face his partner.

"Do you want me to finish tellin' you what happened?" retorted Kid. "Or not?"

His face reddened as he realized by Heyes' smirk that his cousin had been baiting him. His partner's smirk grew into a bright smile.

"Yeah, Kid finish tellin' the story," urged Heyes.

"While I was out, the sheriff came back to the Carlson ranch. He'd figured out Jake killed Harvey. Jake went on the run."

"Is that it?"

"Mrs. Carlson said if I didn't fetch Jake back alive for her she'd tell the sheriff who we really were."

The smile disappeared from Heyes' face.

"And here I thought she was such a nice lady." Heyes glowered.

"Mrs. Carlson is a nice lady."

"Blackmail ain't exactly a nice thing to do," objected Heyes. "Nor a ladylike thing to do."

"She was desperate," reminded Kid. "She didn't want to see her husband get killed."

"I don't want to see anyone get killed," exclaimed Heyes, "especially not you or me!"

"I'm right there with you partner," Kid nodded in agreement.

There was a momentary silence. Kid reached a hand up to the oil lamp on the bureau. Heyes raised a hand to still him.

"One last thing, where was Jake when we left?" asked Heyes. "I know you both were at the ranch yesterday afternoon, but…"

"Sheriff Moody arrested Jake," answered Kid. "He's holding Jake at the jail until a new judge arrives, which is why I have to go back and testify."

Kid turned down the lamp. The light dimmed, the wick sputtered and sighed, then darkened. Kid reached out for the bedpost and climbed past his Colt to pull down the quilt. He slid his long legs under the covers. Soft sounds from the other side of the room told him his partner was settling in for the night too.

"Kid," called Heyes' soft voice, "is there anything else I should know?"

Kid hesitated, thinking of his last, lingering worry. He had a well deserved reputation as the fastest gun in the West, but he wasn't wanted for murder. Kid used his weapon mainly as a deterrent. While he'd never backed down from trouble, he didn't go looking to show off his dangerous skill. Kid truly didn't think of himself or his partner as bad men, but now he was wondering, wondering about himself. Looking for the man who shot his partner was the first time he'd ever deliberately gone tracking another human. If his pistol hadn't come out of the holster when he dove in the water, would Harvey have made it back to the sheriff's office alive?

"Anything else bothering you?" called Heyes.

Kid's lips curled slightly upwards at his partner's question. Whispered conversation between beds reminded Kid of when they were boys. His cousin always knew when something was troubling him. Kid couldn't see his partner's face across the darkened room, but maybe that was for the best.

"If my Colt...," whispered Kid.

There wasn't any hesitation in Heyes response to Kid's unspoken question.

"Kid, you aren't a murderer!" assured Heyes. "Trying to bring a man into the law is a whole different thing from Bishop bushwhacking folks. I know you were gonna bring him in to the sheriff alive!"

"Heyes, I'd like to agree with you, but I ain't so sure about that," confided Kid.

"I'm sure," replied Heyes confidently. "Now get some sleep."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	3. Restin' Easy

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 3: Restin' Easy

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Kid rolled over on his back and stretched, first one arm, then the other, followed by each of his legs. The well-built man sat up in the big brass bed and rolled his shoulders. On the other side of the room, his partner was curled up in a ball, snoring softly. Kid smiled. Last night was the first truly good night's sleep he'd had since Heyes had been shot. He glanced at the early morning light peeking from beneath the window drapes.

"Mrs. O'Rourke is gonna need her dishes back soon," murmured Kid to himself.

A short while later, Kid, dressed in the same trousers he'd worn yesterday and a clean shirt from his saddlebags pulled on his bulky sheepskin jacket. He opened the door to the corridor once more. Kid shook his head. The copper tub he'd brought out earlier with its chill, soapy water still hadn't been removed. He bent down, picked up Heyes' boots, tucked them under his arm, straightened and reached for the tray of dishes. The spoons clanked softly against the bowl. Kid looked back into the room once more. His cousin was still sleeping. The book Kid had found in the top drawer of the bureau waited on the nearby nightstand. Kid's note peeked out beneath the thick brown volume.

"Sleep well partner," whispered Kid.

The gentle former bandit stepped out into the corridor. The dishes on the tray he carried wobbled precariously as he pulled the door shut before he headed down the stairs to the hotel lobby.

"Mr. Smith is still sleeping," Kid informed the desk clerk. "I don't want him disturbed while I'm gone, but I would like the bathtub removed from the hallway."

"Will you two be staying another night?" questioned the clerk.

Kid glanced at the room keys dangling from hooks on the wall behind the clerk. It appeared that only one of the other rooms was occupied.

"Does a hot bath still come with the room?"

The clerk's smile faltered, but then he glanced at the registry book. Kid could see a haphazardly scrawled name after his own. Sam somebody.

"Of course," declared the clerk. "It's our best room."

Union Flats appeared to be a nice, quiet little town and his partner needed to rest. Kid smiled broadly. He set the tray down on the counter, elbowed Heyes' boots closer to his ribs and reached for his wallet.

"I think we'll be staying a while," hoped Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Let me get the door for you young man," called a booming voice.

Kid looked up from the tray he was trying balance one handed, his other hand hovering towards the diner's door knob. The owner of the voice stepped up and pulled the door to the diner open. Bells above the door jingled. Early morning sunlight glinted off the star on the man's chest.

"Thank you Marshall," responded Kid.

"Think nothing of it," chuckled the barrel chested lawman.

The tall fast draw entered the diner carrying the tray of dishes, his partner's boots clutched under his arm, followed by a U.S. Marshall. Every step he took, Kid expected a hand to clamp down on his shoulder and say _"you're under arrest!"_

"You brought the dishes back!" exclaimed the waitress. She peered past Kid to see the man behind him. "Sam!"

With a delighted squeal, the waitress launched herself at the Marshall. Kid availed himself of the distraction and headed to the kitchen in the rear of the building. The muscular blond stopped at the doorway to the busy kitchen. The aroma of biscuits filled the air. A kettle of water bubbled on a back burner. Bacon sizzled in a large frying pan. Mrs. O'Rourke looked up from the black cast iron cook stove. The thickset little woman brushed a strand of red hair streaked with white back from her face.

"Oh good," greeted Mrs. O'Rourke. She pointed to an empty space on the counter nearest the sink. "Just set those things over there."

Kid moved further into the kitchen. The cook reached for an oven mitt, bent down and opened the door to the oven. Using a long handled fork, Mrs. O'Rourke poked and prodded the pans inside, moving them around for even heating. Her muffled voice continued speaking as Kid set the tray down.

"When will ye be wanting the breakfast tray for your friend?"

"Not until I get back," replied Kid. "I've got some errands. After I've been to the telegraph office and…"

Mrs. O'Rourke straightened up. She set a pan of biscuits down on the counter between the stove and the sink and began flipping the strips of bacon.

"Help yourself to one of them biscuits," ordered the aging widow. "And if you're goin' to the telegraph office, you might as well go out the back door and save yourself a few steps. It's quicker."

Kid grinned. He reached for a puffy, golden brown biscuit.

"Don't mind if I do," agreed Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"To Sheriff Lom Trevors, Porterville Wyoming," repeated Kid.

The telegraph operator pushed his wire rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose with one bony finger and squinted carefully. His lips moved as he silently counted the words.

"That will be…"

"Six bits," nodded Kid pushing the coins across the counter. "And let me know when there's a reply."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I can't believe the price of resoling boots," muttered Kid as he stepped out of the cobbler's workshop a short while later.

Kid started to turn back towards the diner, but stopped and stared when he caught a glimpse of the telegraph operator. The skinny little man stood on the edge of the boardwalk in front of his workplace. He looked towards the hotel, then he turned towards the other side of town. The little man's face lit up in recognition when he spotted Kid.

"Mr. Jones! Mr. Jones!" called the telegraph operator as he rushed towards Kid. "You got a return telegram!"

"Already?" murmured Kid in disbelief.

Blue eyes glanced towards the diner, but there was no sign of the Marshall. Kid noted the other people on the street didn't seem the least bit interested in the telegraph operator's loud announcement. The man reached Kid and pushed the answering telegram into his hands.

"Do you have a response?" asked the man.

"I ain't even read this yet," retorted Kid.

He unfolded the paper. Kid let out a soft sigh at Lom's message: _Carlson telegraphed. Judge arriving Thursday. Sheriff Moody asking questions. Why?_ He looked up from the message to see the operator's eager face.

"Yeah I got a response," replied Kid.

He walked back to the telegraph station with the spry man and tried to think of a better answer, but by the time they both got to the office, he still hadn't come up with anything more than his first thought.

"To Sheriff Lom Trevors, Porterville Wyoming," started Kid.

"I already got that part," assured the telegraph operator. He picked up his pencil and nodded. "What else?"

"Ask Moody."

"That's it?" asked the telegraph operator. "You sure that's all?"

To Kid's ears the man sounded disappointed. He reached into the inside pocket of his sheepskin coat and pulled out a thin silver dime.

"That's all," answered Kid. "But let me know when…"

"Yeah," interrupted the telegraph operator, "let you know when there's a reply."

"Yeah," replied Kid. He fixed a glare on the man. "And like I said before, I'm staying at the hotel. You can bring my messages there. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go shouting my business in the street."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Kid quietly eased the door to their hotel room open. His partner had moved the chair closer to the window. Heyes' longjohns were now hidden beneath a clean white button down shirt and black trousers. The former outlaw looked up from the book in his hands and smiled. Kid stepped inside the room and nudged the door shut with his hip.

"I brought breakfast," began Kid.

"A little late for breakfast, isn't it?" sniped Heyes. "Most people are probably thinking about their midday meal by now!"

"Sorry, I hoped to be back before you woke up," apologized Kid.

Heyes' face reddened slightly, making Kid wonder exactly how long his partner had been awake. His partner placed the book face down over the arm of the chair as Kid carried the tray over to the dry sink. It appeared as if Heyes hadn't read much. The slender man uncrossed his legs and flexed his feet. The toes of his red socks wriggled in the beam of sunshine piercing the window pane.

"Where are my boots?" demanded Heyes.

"At the cobbler's," answered Kid.

"What are they doing over there?

"They're getting resoled."

"And you didn't think I might want to wear them today?"

Kid lifted the cover off the first breakfast plate. Steam arose from the hot scrambled eggs, bacon and biscuit. The scent of cinnamon rolled off the slices of fried apples. Kid held the plate out towards his partner. Heyes took the plate without even looking at the food.

"I didn't think you'd need them today," responded Kid.

"And why not?"

He handed Heyes a fork and napkin.

"If you'd read my note," continued Kid, "you'd know you're supposed to be resting easy for the next few days."

"I did read your note. I don't need any more rest! I've done nothing but rest all week," insisted Heyes, "Like I told you yesterday, I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it," smirked Kid.

He picked up the other plate, sat on the side of his bed and placidly began eating his breakfast.

"The man said your boots will be ready this afternoon," continued Kid. "I can pick them up for you later, or you can walk on over in your socks if you're in a hurry. Just wait until after one."

Heyes' brown eyes blinked in surprise at Kid's lengthy response.

"That's it?" questioned Heyes.

"What?" asked Kid.

"All this," Heyes pointed at his sock covered feet, the book, the plate, the comfortable bed. "You're not trying to keep me in the hotel room?"

Kid widened his blue eyes in his best attempt at innocence.

"Heyes," smirked Kid, "now would I do something like that?"

"You might," replied the silver tongued schemer.

Heyes scooped up a bite of food and began chewing furiously. Kid decided now was the time to inform his partner of some of the other developments this morning.

"You ought to know, Union Flats ain't quite as pretty a little town as we thought," continued Kid.

Heyes looked up from his plate.

"What do you mean?"

"There's a US Marshal that visit's here quite regular," answered Kid. "He stopped in at the diner for breakfast this morning."

"Did he see you?" demanded Heyes.

"Yeah, polite fella," answered Kid. "He opened the door to the diner for me. I've never seen him before and he doesn't know me."

"What's a US Marshall doing in a little town like Union Flats?"

"According to Mrs. O'Rourke, he's sweet on the waitress over at the diner."

"Did you get the Marshal's name?" asked Heyes.

"I didn't introduce myself, but the waitress called him Sam," responded Kid. He swallowed the last bite of his breakfast. "He's about five eight, stocky, brown hair with a moustache."

"Kid that description could fit just about anyone," smirked Heyes. "Have you been writing wanted posters?"

Kid fixed his blue eyes on his partner. Heyes' grin broadened, his dimples deepening.

"What kind of moustache Kid?" teased Heyes. "A pencil thin one like Horace wears? Or a handlebar moustache? Or maybe a horseshoe…"

"Do you know any US Marshalls named Sam?"

"No," replied Heyes. "We might be in luck there."

Kid briefly wondered when their luck had ever been that good, but didn't get to voice his question as Heyes continued speaking.

"And who's Mrs. O'Rourke?"

"The lady that runs the diner," answered Kid.

He waved his broad hand at their meal.

"She's a real good cook."

"You think everybody's a good cook," chuckled Heyes.

"Not quite everybody," smirked Kid.

"Hey!" protested Heyes. "It's not my fault the beans burned the last time I cooked."

"I can burn beans as well as anyone," chuckled Kid. "It's what you do to coffee that has me worried."

Kid's soft laughter brought a smile to Heyes' face. The dark haired strategist set his fork down and leaned back in the chair. He looked pointedly at the tray.

"Did you bring any coffee?"

"You're supposed to be resting," reminded Kid. He stood up and carried his empty plate back to the tray. "I'll bring coffee back later when I take these back to the diner."

"I keep telling you I'm fine," huffed Heyes. "I can go over to the diner myself."

"So you say," agreed Kid with a mild tone.

"If I had my boots!"

"But that Marshall is stayin' here at the hotel..."

"He's staying here?" spluttered Heyes. "I thought you said he stopped in at the diner!"

Kid fixed a look on his partner. Heyes inhaled sharply, but stopped his complaints.

"He don't need to see you too."

The patient man held out his hand. Heyes passed him his plate. Kid stacked the dishes on the tray and stepped back.

"Oh, I almost forgot," added Kid in a nonchalant tone, "Lom replied to my telegram earlier."

"Already?"

"Yeah, apparently Rachel Carlson convinced the territorial judge to come to town."

"When?" asked Heyes.

"Thursday."

"Thursday! That's the day after tomorrow!" exploded Heyes. "We'll have to…"

Kid shook his head. He sat back on the edge of his bed. He knew his partner wasn't going to like the next bit.

"Not we," insisted Kid. "Just me. I'm the only one going back to testify."

Heyes frowned.

"I'm the only one that saw Harvey Bishop shooting at me," reminded Kid.

"Kid," asked Heyes in that tone that told Kid his partner was fishing for information, "why didn't we just stay at the Carlson's ranch until after the trial?"

"Mainly because I wasn't expecting a judge this soon," admitted Kid.

He knew his partner wouldn't accept that as the only reason, so Kid added a bit more.

"But partly, it's because you were not supposed to be riding a horse yet."

"What's my riding, or not riding, got to do with anything?"

Kid let a slow smile spread across his face, trying to appear totally at ease. When Kid reported that Harvey had tried to kill him, Sheriff Moody hadn't believed him. Kid hadn't told his partner about the lawman's threat to look a whole lot closer at Kid and he wasn't going to. According to Lom's telegram Moody was spending a good bit of money on telegrams asking a lot of questions. If the sheriff found out about Kid, he'd find out about Heyes.

"All sorts of folks come to trials. If something goes wrong and I'm recognized, I'll have to make a fast getaway," explained Kid, sharing most of the truth. "I want you to already be outta town."

Heyes' forehead crinkled up as his frown deepened. Kid stretched out on his bed. He reached for the floppy brown hat that he'd tossed on the bedpost last night.

"But nothin's gonna go wrong," replied Heyes. His brown eyes narrowed. "Right Kid?"

"Right Heyes," dissembled Kid as he pulled his brown hat over his face. "Nothing's going wrong. I'll catch the first stage out tomorrow morning and be at the Carlson's ranch by nightfall. I'll testify on Thursday, and be back here Friday night."

"Kid…" growled his partner.

"But right now I just want to get some shut eye," added Kid. "I'll take the dishes back to the diner this afternoon and get your boots then."

"A nap? Now? You're going to sleep again?" protested Heyes.

"Not if you don't quit talking'," sighed Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	4. Testimony

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 4: Testimony

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Wednesday morning, Kid stepped out into the corridor. He glanced back through the open door. Heyes lay on his belly, sprawled across the bed sideways, still fully dressed. The new soles of his black boots faced the twenty-seven year old. Upon learning that the Marshall had left Union Flats yesterday afternoon, his partner insisted on going out for supper that evening.

"And you call me stubborn," muttered Kid softly.

When they returned last night, Heyes insisted he wasn't tired. Kid moved the lamp from the bureau to the nightstand beside his partner's bed before he climbed into his own bed. The book Heyes had been reading lay face down on the mattress this morning before Kid picked it up. From the way the book was placed, the curly haired blond knew his partner must have stayed up very late reading.

"You didn't even take off your boots."

The note he'd placed in between the pages this morning served as a bookmark and also contained a good portion of their money. Kid kept enough for travelling and left everything except what he was wearing with his partner.

"I'll be back Friday," promised Kid as he pulled the door shut.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Where is your witness?" demanded a loud irascible male voice.

"Mr. Jones promised he'd be back," answered the flustered voice of Mrs. Carlson.

Kid limped into the crowded courtroom Thursday morning in time to see the slim blonde wring her hands. She stood behind her husband. Jake sat at a table next to a gray haired man that Kid remembered meeting at one of the funerals he'd attended. Was he a lawyer? He rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. Sheriff Moody sat at an adjacent table covered with papers and a small box. A large man wearing a brown tweed suit sat beside him. At the front of the room, on a raised dais sat a gaunt man in a black suit. This man pounded a gavel on the table. His black stovepipe hat setting on the table bounced with every thud. Men trapped in a juror's box were seated to one side of the judge. Mrs. Carlson started to speak again.

"Of course a man like that…"

The words grated on Kid's ears. He felt like cringing. What did a woman like Rachel Carlson know about a man like him? Aside from his name of course.

"Mrs. Carlson," called out Kid in a clear voice, "My apologies for arriving late. The stage was attacked late yesterday between Wilton's Bend and here. We only just now arrived."

Gasps sounded from the townsfolk as they turned to see him. Kid knew he looked a sight. He was dusty, dirty, and beyond tired after the worst stagecoach ride in recent memory. His brown hat dangled by the stampede strings over the back of his sheepskin coat as he limped down the aisle.

"Mr. Jones," exclaimed Mrs. Carlson, the relief in her voice readily apparent. "I'm so glad you're here!"

The man seated beside Jake stood up abruptly.

"Judge," declared the defense attorney, "I'd like to call our first witness, Mr. Thaddeus Jones."

Kid frowned at the man's hastiness. He continued down the aisle as he searched the sea of faces watching the spectacle of a murder trial. Kid couldn't locate the person he needed.

"Before anybody goes calling me anything," growled Kid, "is the doctor here?"

"Son are you injured?" demanded the irascible voice.

The judge, realized Kid. He shook his head. He'd been lucky. He was the last passenger to board the stage in Wilton's Bend. A plump matron travelling with her yappy little dog entered the coach before him. The feisty critter nipped and snarled at his approach. The driver offered him a seat up top if he didn't want to have the animal bothering him. As he climbed up, Kid saw the poodle curl up in a ball in what should have been Kid's seat. When the attack came, the first shot pierced the padded seat cushion six inches above little Monsieur Le'Pouf's fluffy ears.

"Not me," answered Kid. "The driver. Big fella name of Elias Jones, no relation. He's bleeding over at the depot."

People murmured. The men in one row parted as Doc stood up. Kid saw the doctor make his way past knobby knees, up the aisle, and out of the courtroom. He glanced back at the sheriff. Moody eyed him suspiciously.

"Might need a sheriff too," continued Kid. At Moody's questioning gaze, Kid added, "None of the passengers were hurt. Elias and I managed to make the highwaymen rethink their plans."

Kid didn't bother to tell them the details of a long night hand leading frightened horses that pulled a damaged coach. Moody and the man in the brown tweed exchanged a few brief words, then the sheriff abruptly pushed back his chair and started out of the courtroom.

"Come up here," called the judge.

The older man pointed at the empty armchair next to the dais. Kid forced himself forward, forced himself to pretend he didn't notice the people staring at the gun tied down on his hip. Jake's attorney stepped forward to usher him into the seat. Kid let out an exhausted sigh as he sank down. His legs sprawled out and he leaned back in much the same manner that he had sat in Moody's office a week ago.

"We were beginnin' to think you weren't gonna show up," grumbled the judge.

"I was beginnin' to think the same thing Judge," murmured Kid with a rueful shake of his head.

The judge waved his hand impatiently at the gray haired lawyer.

"Ulysses," urged the judge, "don't just stand there! Get on with it!"

"Oh, yes," the lawyer jumped, startled. "Yes sir, Judge Abernathy."

The lawyer called Ulysses turned to face Kid. He bestowed a fatuous smile on his witness.

"For the record," began the lawyer, "would you state your name and occupation?"

"Ain't you forgettin' somethin' Ulysses?" grumbled the judge.

The poor man looked flustered. The lawyer ran a finger along the inside of his starched white collar. Kid smirked. This judge must be something if he could get both Mrs. Carlson and this fellow in a tizzy.

"Uh…"

"Swear him in," prompted Judge Abernathy.

The attorney reached for a black leather clad book and held it out towards Kid.

"Place your hand on the Bible and repeat after me…"

Kid leaned forward and read the gilt letters on the side of the thick volume.

"Modern Juris… prudence?"

The flustered man glanced nervously between Kid and the judge. He gestured towards the men crowding the courtroom. Mrs. Carlson was one of the few women in sight.

"There's a revival meeting at the church. The Ladies Missionary Group took all the Bibles," explained the attorney in a low hiss. "Just repeat after me..."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Yes sir," nodded Kid. "I saw him very clearly. Black pants, black stacked heel boots, holster tied down with an orange rawhide strip, rifle in his hand. Harvey Bishop tried to kill me."

Jake's lawyer beamed at Kid. He glanced from his client to the prosecuting attorney.

"Your witness."

The man in the brown tweed suit stood up. He towered over everyone in the courtroom. Silently, the tall man padded his way towards Kid. The defense attorney resumed his seat beside Jake.

"Now Mr. Jones," began the prosecutor in an affable tone, "you said you'd been trackin' cougars all week for Mr. Carlson. That right?"

"Yes," agreed Kid.

"You ever worked for the law?"

"No."

"Been in the army? A scout perhaps?"

"No."

The attorney paused and rubbed one hand slowly across his chin.

"Then what made you think you could go after someone who had already killed three times, nearly four?"

"Like I told Jake, I was looking for cougars."

Kid's lips pulled back in a tight smile. It wasn't a total lie, he had told Jake he was looking for cougars. The attorney bared his teeth in response, but it wasn't really a smile. The man in brown leaned forward and snarled.

"But you found something else."

"No."

Kid's steady blue eyed gaze met the prosecutor's unnaturally bright blue eyes.

"No?" questioned the attorney.

"Harvey Bishop found me," clarified Kid. "I didn't know anyone was near until he started shooting."

The attorney reared back. Straightening up, he slowly began to pace back and forth between Kid's chair and his desk. Kid waited patiently. The third time the attorney padded back towards Kid, he stopped in front of the young shootist.

"Who shot first?"

"Like I told you, Harvey Bishop shot at me," answered Kid.

"And you returned fire…"

"No," interrupted Kid. "I never got a chance to defend myself."

The prosecutor padded back over to his table, shuffled through some papers, picked up one. He held the document close to his eyes and squinted as if reading it.

"Yes, that's what you told Sheriff Moody last Thursday," nodded the prosecutor. He looked over at Kid. The rapid exchange of question and answers began again. "Did you tell Jake too?"

"Not then."

"When did you tell Jake that Harvey Bishop tried to kill you?"

"Saturday," replied Kid. "When I told him I'd testify for him."

"Why didn't you tell Jake sooner?"

"The next time I saw Jake, Sheriff Moody was asking my partner where I was when he got shot."

"And where were you when your friend got shot?"

"Behind him!"

The words shot out of Kid's mouth. Belatedly, Kid remembered what Heyes had told Moody. The prosecutor frowned.

"Your partner told Sheriff Moody that you were riding in front of him when he was shot," objected the big man.

"Joshua didn't know what happened!" retorted Kid.

"Really? Then why would he lie?"

"You'll have to ask him," answered Kid.

"And where is your partner now?"

"Safe."

Kid glared at the prosecutor, daring the man to ask where he'd taken his partner. Instead the man asked a different question.

"And you didn't tell Sheriff Moody your partner was mistaken?"

"Sheriff Moody didn't ask."

The prosecutor glanced back at the paper in his hand. Kid tensed, ready to be accused of almost anything, but the prosecutor seemed to relax. He placed the paper back on the table.

"Yes, Sheriff Moody mentions that in his testimony," agreed the man in a mild tone. He looked back up and resumed questioning Kid in a quiet matter of fact tone. "What kind of pistol do you carry?"

Kid remained on guard, not quite sure what the prosecutor was trying to do.

"Colt forty-five," answered Kid. "Some folks call it the Peacemaker."

"And what kind of rifle did you use when you are hunting cougars?"

"Winchester Model 1876."

"And what kind of gun was used to shoot Judge Peters, Augie Helms, Joshua Smith, Sam Winters and Harvey Bishop?"

Kid opened his mouth and then closed it. He'd gone back that first morning to where Heyes had been shot. He had searched the surrounding area thoroughly. The only thing he'd found were footprints.

"A rifle, but I don't know what kind."

"You don't know?" asked the prosecutor.

Kid's back stiffened. Was the man going to try to blame the shootings on him? The big man looked back down at the paper and then raised his eyes to look directly at Kid. The man flashed a true smile at Kid.

"Only the murderer or someone in possession of the spent shells would be able to answer that question."

The attorney picked up a small container from the table before him. He shook it. Kid heard tinny metal clanking. Kid steeled himself for more questions, but the prosecutor appeared to be done. The big man turned to Judge Abernathy.

"Ephraim, I have no further questions."

"Son," advised the judge, "you can step down now."

"I can leave?" questioned Kid.

"It's polite to wait until I dismiss everybody, after I announce the verdict," chided the judge. He waved his hand towards the benches. "Go sit with your friends."

Kid turned to see Mrs. Carlson beckoning him to a seat behind Jake. Sheriff Moody and the deputy sat beside her. Kid cautiously made his way to sit with them while the judge called both lawyers to his table. Kid squeezed into the empty spot on the bench between Mrs. Carson and Sheriff Moody. The men of the jury were escorted to the next room.

"Thank you so much for coming Mr. Jones," whispered Mrs. Carlson.

The sheriff leaned sideways and grinned at him.

"Glad to know you were riding behind your partner," murmured Moody.

"Why?" asked Kid in a low voice.

"Sheriff Moody realized the bullet that struck your partner had to have been fired from in front of him," answered Mrs. Carlson.

"I was beginning to think that maybe I'd let the wrong man leave town," confided Moody.

"We were riding together, close enough to talk to each other," reminded Kid. "Most folks wouldn't use a rifle at such close range."

"Most folks wouldn't shoot another person."

Kid nodded in agreement with the truth of the sheriff's statement.

"Where's your partner?" asked Moody.

Kid leaned back on the bench and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Like I said, safe."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I can't believe you were sentenced for manslaughter," muttered Kid.

Jake and Rachel Carlson stood beside him at the entrance of the courtroom. The crowd dispersed shortly after Judge Abernathy announced the verdict. Kid glanced down the street. Sheriff Moody and his deputy were headed back to the jail. Inside the building, the attorney's and the judge were chatting like old friends.

"At least the charge wasn't murder," responded Jake.

"Jake, we can appeal," frowned Rachel Carlson. "Just because your rifle has a longer range doesn't mean it wasn't self-defense."

"Now Rachel," Jake shook his head, "We should be grateful. The judge's sentence of a year's probation on my own ranch is more lenient than I'd had any right to expect."

Mrs. Carlson's stormy expression seemed to indicate that she didn't agree. Kid placed his brown hat on his head.

"If you folks don't mind," interjected Kid, "I'll just be going."

"Surely you're not leaving now?" protested Mrs. Carlson.

"Ma'am," answered Kid, "I've got to get to the livery and see about buying a horse. I've got a long ride ahead of me."

"You're riding?" asked Jake.

"I think you'd be better off riding the stage if you're going all the way to Gumption Gully," added Rachel.

Jake wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder. Kid pursed his lips in a tight little smile.

"Oh no Ma'am," replied Kid shaking his head, "I'm not gonna try a stagecoach again any time soon."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Kid tightened the cinches on the saddle of the bay he'd sold on Monday morning and repurchased this afternoon. He turned to lead the gelding out of the stable. Rachel Carlson stood blocking the entrance. She flashed a bright smile at his approach. The stable master was at the watering trough, pumping water as horses gathered near, safely out of hearing range.

"Ma'am," nodded Kid.

"Mr. Jones," asked Rachel, "I'd like your word that you will come back to testify again for an appeal."

"I surely would like to help you Ma'am," agreed Kid without making any promises.

Something in his tone alerted her. Mrs. Carlson frowned.

"But you won't," realized Mrs. Carlson. "Will you?"

"No Ma'am," admitted Kid.

"Why not?"

Kid glanced at the wagon further down the street. Sam Winter's widow and six children were nearly finished loading all their worldly possessions into the back. The widow's brother stood at the front, checking the harness on the horses for the long trip east. Further down the street he caught a flash of red hair and orange satin as a woman hurried up the steps to the saloon.

"Ma'am, there are some crazy folks in the world," began Kid. "And some folks that just don't take no for an answer. I reckon Harvey Bishop was one of them."

"But what?" demanded Rachel. "What else?"

Kid looked at the tall blonde. Rachel had tried to handle Harvey on her own. He remembered what he'd seen at the well. From the barn, he couldn't hear Rachel and Harvey's conversation. Kid didn't know if he should interfere. Now he wished he had. In town the next evening, Helen had told him about rumors. Rumors that had been going around town for quite some time. He wondered. If Rachel had told Jake months ago when Bishop first started bothering her, would things have turned out better? Or would Rachel and Jake be the ones dead? Kid remembered another much younger woman from a long time ago. Maeve screamed and protested at the top of her lungs when some strange man grabbed her. Four people died then too. Kid shook his head, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"I think you know the answer to that Ma'am," replied Kid as he mounted the bay.

"Yes, Mr. Curry," huffed Rachel in that tone of indignation she had perfected, "I guess I do."

"You know how to reach me if needed," added Kid. "If anyone tries bothering you, anyone that you don't feel you can tell Jake about, let me know. I'll come back then."

For a moment, Rachel Carlson looked completely startled. Then she smiled.

"Thank you Mr. Jones," replied Mrs. Carlson warmly. "You don't know how much that means to me."

Kid reined the horse around to face the road west. He nudged the gelding forward into a trot. At the edge of town, he glanced back. Rachel Carlson was still watching. He rode due west along the stage road until he reached a small stream. He urged the horse down the embankment. Together they splashed southward through the shallows for a mile before climbing out. Rejoining the southern trail to Union Flats, Kid patted the bay on its withers. No one was in sight, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

"We won't make it all the way to Union Flats tonight," murmured Kid to the horse. "We'll camp at nightfall, but we should be there well before noon. Heyes will be glad to see you again."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Sharp blue eyes scanned the street as Kid rode into Union Flats Friday morning. He slowed the gelding to a walk. Kid's shoulders tensed as he surveyed the changed town. The stage depot was vacant as was most of the street. The corral at the livery was crowded with extra horses, saddles dangled over railings. The smithy was boarded up. A window pane in the mercantile's multifaceted glass storefront was shattered. The shop owner attempted to sweep up the broken glass, but seemed to be finding it more necessary to lean shakily on his broom. The assay office had a sign _CLOSED_ on its front door.

"What happened here?"

Kid pulled his hat down low as he neared the two saloons. The first saloon was closed. The one on the opposite side of the street was doing a raucous business. Loud and boisterous men, some adorned with stars, perhaps the owners of the many horses in the livery, spilled out of the doors, on to the boardwalk. The men were too busy celebrating to notice Kid, but he heard snatches of their talk as he rode past.

"Tracked them since Monday!"

"Finally got him!"

Kid passed the vacant storefront and the quiet diner. He reined in before the hotel and dismounted. Beyond the hotel, the town was unnaturally quiet. Kid gulped as he looked closer at the hotel. Bullet holes splintered the wall by the entrance. The door swung open on its hinges. On the upper floor, all three windows to the big front room had been shot out. The rose patterned drapes, now stained with a dark red, flapped out the open window. The desk clerk had his back to him. He had a knife in his hand. Kid realized the man was prying bullets out of the wood. Feeling cold and empty to the very center of his being, Kid spoke.

"What happened here?"

The desk clerk jumped. Startled, the man spun around to face Kid clutching the knife as if to defend himself.

"Oh, you again," snorted the man.

He turned back to his work without answering Kid. The tall blond slowly dismounted. Reins in hand, he stepped closer to the hotel. Kid looked up at the window. Blue eyes blinked at the flapping fabric. Time slowed to a crawl.

"I asked you a question," stated Kid quietly.

"The Snyder Gang is what happened," grumbled the man without turning around.

"Who?"

"Highwaymen," responded the clerk with a disgruntled snort. "A gang of stage coach robbers, ruffians and whatever thieves they could pick up on occasion."

"They did all this?"

The bullet in the wall loosened. The clerk grasped it in his hand and finally turned to face Kid, his knife in one hand, the bullet clenched in the other. The clerk gestured back at the bullet holes and waved the knife at the rest of the town in exasperation.

"Of course not!" protested the man. "It took the Snyder Gang and a posse to cause this disaster!"

The sound of boots approaching from inside the hotel stomped closer. Sam, the US Marshal Kid had met Tuesday, stepped out onto the boardwalk. The lawman's left arm was in a loose sling, a bandage around his forearm. His red face showed that he'd heard the clerk. Sam pointed his other hand upwards to the shot out hotel room.

"Apprehending wanted criminals is not a disaster," snapped the Marshal. "Letting murderers run free would be a disaster."

Apprehend. Kid heard the word. He shook his head to clear his mind. Apprehend meant captured, not dead. The Marshal stalked off towards the diner. Kid watched the man until he reached the door and then he turned back to the face the desk clerk. The clerk had been watching the Marshal as well. He slipped the bullet into his pocket and turned back to start digging at another hole in the wall. Kid stepped closer.

"I'm not even gonna ask what the Snyder Gang, whoever they are, was doing in my partner's room," began Kid in a low, deadly voice. "I just want to know…"

The clerk stabbed the knife in the hole and spun around to face Kid. He threw his hands up in the air in a hostile gesture.

"It ain't your partner's room! And it ain't your room! It's my hotel room that got blown all to pieces! Do you have any idea how much it's gonna cost to replace the windows, and drapes and… and…" screeched the man.

The clerk shuddered. The fright of the recent shootout readily apparent in his every motion. His voice lowered to a mere whisper.

"And your partner wasn't even here!" hissed the man. "Mr. Smith checked out two hours after you did Wednesday morning!"

"What?" Kid blinked his blue eyes in confusion. "My partner left? He wasn't here when the shootout happened?"

"Yes he left!" huffed the irate clerk. "And he demanded I give him a refund for the money you'd already advanced too!"

"Where did he go?"

"How should I know?"

The clerk turned around and stomped back inside the hotel. He attempted to slam the door shut, but the door didn't catch in the frame. It swung wildly back and forth as Kid watched the man proceed to the registry desk. He bent over and pulled out a bottle from beneath the counter. The clerk unscrewed the top, closed his eyes and took a deep swig of the brown liquor. The poor man held his breath for a moment, then opened his eyes again.

"Do you have any idea how much it's gonna cost to fix that room up?" wailed the clerk. "And no one is going to want to stay in a room where the Snyder Gang got captured."

"Invite someone famous to stay here then you can tell folks about them," advised Kid. "Don't tell folks the Snyder Gang was here."

"Right," snorted the clerk. "I'll tell everybody that James-Younger Gang, or maybe the Stockton Boys, or better yet Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry stayed here."

The young fast draw sucked in a breath, but the frazzled man didn't seem to be directing his remark at Kid.

"Maybe someone famous and law abiding might be better," suggested Kid.

The man took another swig from the bottle. Kid realized he wasn't going to get any more information from the man, but it wasn't hard to figure that his partner had either bought a horse or a stage ticket. Even with resoled boots, Kid didn't think his partner would try walking out of town. Kid tugged the reins leading his horse as he walked back towards the livery.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hello?" called Kid.

Kid pulled open the barn door.

"Is anyone here?"

Kid held the reins loosely, the big bay remained outside as he stepped inside the opening.

"Quiet," hissed a voice from a dark stall at the far end of the barn. "I'm tendin' a hurt horse back here and I don't need you spooking it!"

"I'm looking for my partner," explained Kid in a firm voice. "Man at the hotel said he left Wednesday morning. He's about my height, dark hair. Did you see him? Maybe sell him a horse?"

Kid's bay nickered. Another horse approached. Kid heard the rider dismount, but he leaned forward intent on the liveryman's words.

"Did he have a black hat? With a hole in it?" huffed the man. "You tell him he ain't getting his money back! He bought that horse fair and square. Now be quiet and shut the door!"

"I just want to know which way he went…"

A strong hand clapped Kid on the shoulder pulling him back outside into the sunshine. Kid spun around, ready for almost anything. Almost anything but the person standing in front of him.

"The man said to be quiet," grinned Heyes.

"Hey..."

Kid gulped down the rest of his partner's name. The tired and dust covered figure before him flashed a dimpled grin. The reins to an unfamiliar roan dangled from Heyes' fingers. The horse was laden with two sets of saddlebags and bedrolls and was even dustier than Heyes.

"If you'd slowed down some since you left the Carlson's, I mighta been able to catch up to you before we got all the way back to Union Flats again, " smirked Heyes.

Kid let the barn door slip through his fingers and swing shut. He stepped forward and enfolded his partner in a huge hug. Heyes' arms reached around him in an answering embrace. The cold chill that Kid had felt since seeing the blood stained drapes drained from his body.

"Did you miss me?" teased Heyes.

Kid rocked back on his heels and glared at his partner.

"Didn't you read my note? You were supposed to be resting easy!"

"Of course I read your note," huffed Heyes. He turned and started away from the barn. Kid followed. "Did you really think I was gonna sit around and do nothing but read that book while you were gone?"

"Thought it might be a good idea," replied Kid.

"The last chapter of the book was missing!" Heyes looked down the street, his eyes stopping to rest on the blasted hotel. "And from the looks of things, I'm kinda glad I didn't stay."

"Me too," agreed Kid. "Where have you been?"

"You took the roundabout stage trip back to the Carlson's didn't you?" questioned Heyes.

"Yeah, I didn't want anyone to trace me back to Union Flats."

"When I woke up and found what you'd done, I took some of that money you left and bought this high priced horse," replied the planner. "Then I started north."

The two men mounted their respective horses and by unspoken agreement turned them in a slow walk southward.

"I camped out in the hills above the Carlson's ranch before nightfall."

"You were supposed to be in a nice warm bed, not sleeping rough!"

"You were supposed to be at the Carlson's ranch!"

"The stage didn't get to town until Thursday morning."

"And you told me nothing was going to go wrong!" reminded Heyes.

"The stage wasn't what I was worried about!"

Heyes' brown eyes narrowed.

"What were you worried about?"

"It don't matter."

"I knew I needed to be watching your back! If something went wrong I wanted to make sure there was a getaway!"

Some of the men outside the saloon stopped their talking to stare at the partners as they rode past. The door to the diner swung open. Sam and the waitress stepped out, laughing. They were oblivious to anyone watching.

"Kid, is that the US Marshal you were telling me about?"

Heyes pulled his pointed black hat down lower on his brow and turned his face away from the couple.

"He ain't lookin' at you," chuckled Kid.

The moustached lawman sank down on one knee in front of the waitress. Further back from the partners, the men at the saloon started to point.

"Kid, it's time we got outta this town!"

Both men spurred their horses onward leaving the sound of shouts behind.

"I thought you said you didn't know a Marshall named Sam?" called Kid as they rode past the white spired church.

"I don't," hollered Heyes. "When I knew him, he was prisoner number eight in the Nebraska Penitentiary."

"Really?" grinned Kid. "Maybe there's hope for us yet."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
